Inside Their Heads
by alienhunter
Summary: -not finished- Story of the 101st Airborne, In WW2...still working on it, please review! feel free to add any ideas of what I have so far, or anything I should add (specially what you think should happen next!
1. The Patrol

Inside their heads…

Bois Jacques woods overlooking Foy, ahead of Bastogne

Throwing myself into a half-dug foxhole as the trees were bursting around me, my mind began to race. All I could think about was staying alive. Soldiers were screaming and yelling 'medic' all around me as Kraut artillery tour the forest apart. I held my body as low and as close to the dirt as possible in the foxhole that I had so hastily entered. I pulled my helmet down and put my head between my crotch. Suddenly a man slammed into me and startled me causing me to let out a loud gasp. It was Sergant Lipton. I heard him say, "Jesus Christ" then bury his head in his crotch. As fast was it had started it ended. The men got out of their foxholes and began helping the wounded. I remained put, a little shaken. I tried to regroup my thoughts, but all that my brain said was, "you lucky son of a bitch."

Besides the spontaneous fire every so often, things went back to 'normal' on the line. As 'normal' as it gets, that is. Except the fact that it was freezing cold, I was hungry, I didn't have enough ammo, and my foxhole was destroyed by Kraut artillery, it was as 'normal' as it gets for war.

Me and Webster usually shared a foxhole, so he was sittin' beside me after we re-dug our hole. He opened his canteen and poured the contents into his mouth.

"They say alcohol makes you colder when you're cold" he said.

"Screw them." I replied grabbing the canteen from his hand and taking a swig.

The liquid burned all the way down my throat, until it reached my empty stomach. Nobody every knew when we would get supplies, and what we did have was running low, so I was always hungry and cold.

Later in the afternoon, Lt. Dike has us gather around and told us that he wanted an organized group sent out past the front line; to try and get any information on they're line or any prisoners. He said he wanted a good 9-man patrol, including; rifleman, machine guns, and covering fire. The only thing he didn't' tell us was, the plan. So it was up to Lipton to provide us with a tactical plan to go by.

At 0100 we headed out. The ground was covered in a soft snow, and a good chilling breeze was blowing. We got about 200 meters from our front line and the Germans had spotted us. They opened fire on us, sending us running like chickens for good cover. I ran behind two trees that were close together, took my M1 off of safe and began returning fire. It was more than obvious that they outnumbered us. I only had 4 extra clips, so I made sure my shots counted. I put my gun on the side of the tree, poked my head out for no more than 3 seconds, took aim, and fired. Missed. Try again. Got him. There was a burning sensation flowing through my body that day, and every shot I made, make me feel invincible. I kept shooting till the Krauts thought we had twice as many soldiers as we actually had and began falling back. At that time Lipton shouted "Seis fire" and we stopped. Webster came up behind me, with a pack of smokes, pointing them towards me indicating to take one. I pulled one out of the package, and he gave me a light.

I felt like I won in a short, small way. Even though we didn't accomplish much in this patrol, I still felt like I did something. We began to head back to the frontline, and I carried my M1 with pride, a cigarette between my lips. As we continued to walk back, all the sudden I heard a 'click'. I motioned for the group to crouch down. Then just as we thought that the sound has passed, about 10 or 11 more 'clicks' were heard. We were surrounded. I look to Shifty couching next to me, and asked him, "wudda see?" He looked at me and whispered, "2 of em' behind those bushes," as he nodded, "another 2 behind those trees, and the rest I dono." he stated. We waited for Lipton's order.

I got a long way to go, and my plot line isn't complete…but let me know what you think so far….


	2. Walking With The Enemy

A continuation…

My heart was about ready to pound out of my chest, we didn't know what to do, If we opened fire, we'd all be dead-meat, and we sure as hell weren't gonna surrender.

All the sudden, the dead silence broke, and a tall, dark-haired man, probably around his late 30s, began to laugh. Nobody fired; we just remained crouched low. I couldn't understand what the fucker was doing, was he trying to give away his position, and possibly his men's positions too? He began to speak, in a deep and very much so masculine voice.

"Schauen Sie an was wir hier geworden sind." As he stepped forward, spitting at the ground. He motioned his hand; in such a way that his men stepped from their positions, like a bear out of hibernation, guns towards us and all. My heart sank to the bottom of my feet just then.

Nobody knew what he had said, except Liebgott, who we had with us luckily.

With still remaining eye contact with the dark-haired Kraut, Liebgott said quickly, "He said, 'Look what we got here.'"

Lipton anxiously looked over at Liebgott with an uneasy expression clearly written across his face.

None of us were more than two feet away from one another, so our position was bad and on top of that the fucking Kraut's outnumbered us. Nobody had time to think before the Krauts, all of them, inched inward towards our small group. I gripped my M1 tighter and tighter until my knuckles turned white.

The dark-haired German began to speak again, "Sie Fallen Ihre Waffen lassen." He said.

Liebgott translated, "Drop you weapons."

Sweat was running down my face and my back. I loosened my grip on my M1, letting the tension in my knuckles go. Penkala was the first to drop his weapon. I heard the battle-worn weapon hit the soft packed snow beneath it. A few others dropped theirs and soon everyone in our small group began to follow suit. I knew that if I dropped my weapon I wouldn't have anything to fight with except the .45 pistol that I had purchased before we left for Normandy and my trench knife. I looked over at Lipton, and he too slowly let go of his weapon and it thumped on the ground below. I let go, and my heart stopped beating for a minute. Probably the dumbest thing you could ever do in war, but what choice did I have, seeing as even Lipton let his go.

The older, dark-haired German said something that I can't recall and a boy, probably no older than 16, emerged and came forward toward our group. His MP40 slung snug at his hips as he approached. I thought it was the end. This was it, he was gonna kill us all, right here, where we're only 300 yards from our own M.L.R., but nobody can see us, for the snow was blowing and the brush was too thick. Just as I thought he was going plaster us in bullets, he began to kick our guns away from our feet. My breath steadied, but only for the moment.

"Get up" the dark-haired stammered in a German accent; apparently he did know English, or maybe some at least.

I wanted to cry. I didn't want to die, and nobody knew what to do, for it was apparent.

I rose slowly from my crouching position. We all stood, bewildered, not knowing what to expect from the dirty bastards.

The tall German spoke again, "You will come with us, or you will die here."

About seven Germans walked up to us with their guns pointed at us. The one took a puff of his cigarette, and threw the burning butt into the snow and said in poor English;

"Get in one line"

I walked over behind Liebgott and the rest of the group did the same. Part of me wanted to tear out my .45 and bash the bastard's brains out, but I remained calm, with a solemn look upon my face.

The dark-haired spoke, "Follow me." And motioned with his gun barrel his direction. He began to walk forward and two others joined him at his side. The rest of the Kraut's followed behind our single line.

Nobody talked, our fear was overwhelming. All nine of us, trudging along, not knowing where we were heading and with an enemy patrol group made the hair rise on the back of my neck. The Kraut's behind us were talking amongst themselves and every time somebody stepped out of line or miss-stepped, a poke in the back of a gun barrel or a crack across the back of the head with a gun butt made you walk right again. We walked like this for about twenty minutes. I kept going over in my head that my trench knife was readily handy and that they don't know that, but for now I'll keep it where it is.

Every step I took, my heart raced faster and my breathing sped up to almost a point that I felt like passing out. Wouldn't they have already sent out another patrol to look for us by now? Who was I kidding though; it's the Army, why would they the Army do a thing like that?

The day was turning darker, and we still hadn't reached anyplace, hell we could have been walking in circles for all I knew. I kept my eyes focused on the person in front of me and kept trudging through the snow. Every so often the Kraut's would talk to one another, but that was it. It was silence except for our boots against the snow and the distant gunshots and the wind.

Finally the trees began to thin out and lone behold; we had reached the city of Foy. It was a beautiful city, the buildings tall and plentiful. The church hovering above the surrounding structures, looked like God lowering his hand from the sky. Foy, would have been more stunning if the circumstances were better. As we slowed into the town, German's running by halted and spit and cursed at us, but our captors continued to walk farther into the town. Soon the grass beneath our feet turned to cobblestone and our boots made a click-clack sound as we walked in unison.

A/N: Still more to come….tell me how I'm doing!


End file.
